Chasing Red (Chasing Red 1)

Those green eyes widened and homed in on my face. I thought I’d pissed him off this time, but the most unexpected thing happened. He started laughing. “I like you,” he said, chuckling. “I mean you’re a knockout, but I didn’t think it went beyond that.”

Did he just insult me?

“I’m offering you a way out of your misery. Why don’t you take it?” He pinched his nose with his fingers. “And could you please take a shower? You might be gorgeous, but I ain’t spending time with a girl who smells like the sewer.”

I huffed. He was right though—I smelled really, really bad. But… “Then what do you want in exchange?”

“Not everyone wants something from you,” he replied grimly.

“Oh, is that what you think?” I laughed bitterly. “Everyone wants something one way or another. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

He tilted his head to the side and studied my face again. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. My looks and the shape of my body usually made people think I was always looking for fun. Fun was the last thing on my mind. I was too busy staying alive, too busy working for my next meal to think about anything else. Last night had been an anomaly.

I had no other good options—just shelter or street—and he was offering me a way out. He at least looked sincere. It was about choosing the lesser of two evils. I took a deep breath.

“I could clean,” I said quietly.

Was I really doing this? Why not? The world hadn’t given me a free ticket in so long. I was overdue for one.

“Sorry?” He blinked at me, and I wasn’t sure if he was teasing or serious. “I didn’t hear what you said.”

I took another deep breath, and this time my voice was stronger. “I could clean your place in exchange for my stay.”

“I already have someone come in three times a week for that,” he answered.

“I can cook.”

He frowned. “Don’t string me along like that. That’s not very nice.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Can you really cook?” His face lit up. He looked like a little boy who had found the last cookie at the bottom of the jar.

“Yes,” I answered, ignoring the crazy effect his smile had on me.

“Deal!”

This was too easy. “You said you live by yourself, but how can you afford this place?”

His expression shuttered. I hoped he didn’t think I was trying to find out how much money he had. That I was a gold digger. But why wouldn’t he think that? He didn’t know me from Eve.

I might have been poor, but I wasn’t a freeloader. My hands proved how hard I worked, and I was proud of that. One more year and I would get that diploma. I’d work my ass off to have a good life. I didn’t need much—a steady job, a simple house, and a serviceable car would be more than enough to make me happy. And I would never go hungry again. I’d get there without help from anyone.

“Look,” I hissed angrily. “I was only curious. If you think I’m some gold digger—”

He held a hand up. “Will you stop putting words in my mouth? Do you really think I want this life? This…this.” He gestured to the whole room. “You think this makes me happy?” His jaw was set, his hands fisted.

“Yes!” I answered. I fell silent, incredulous. He had no concept of what it meant to go hungry, to not know where he was going to sleep next, to live in fear. We were worlds apart.

This was never going to work.

We both stood there awkwardly, but after a few seconds, he opened his mouth again, waggling his eyebrows as if nothing had happened. “Know what? You do my homework while you’re cooking my dinner tonight.”

So much for that moment. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“Hold on,” he said. “I didn’t even get your name.”

“Veronica Strafford.”